Caillou Stands Up
by Dharma Bum
Summary: Caillou is older, but is he grown-up yet? WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH


Caillou could remember when he was four and he couldn't wait to get out of bed in the morning, throwing the blankets aside, waking Gilbert, his cat, and racing downstairs ready to start the day. Those days, he thought sleepily as he turned over, are gone. He was seventeen years old and it was the middle of summer vacation and all he wanted to do was snooze it away. At least not get up at the ungodly hour of-what? He opened one eye and looked at the clock. Nine-thirty. He supposed he should get out of bed before Mom chased him out.

After throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt he walked downstairs. Dad and his sister Rosie were in the kitchen. A basket with a single muffin sat on the table. "Mm, muffins," Caillou said.

"Not for you." Dad snatched up the muffin. "You snooze, you lose, sport."

"Good morning to you too." Caillou yawned. "I guess I'll have cereal then."

"Sorry," Rosie said cheerfully. "I just ate the last of it. If you want breakfast looks like you'll have to go to the store yourself."

"This is such a caring, considerate family. Why didn't Mom make me get up for breakfast? Where is she?"

"Taking Gilbert to the vet, remember?" Increasingly lazy as he aged, Gilbert had been refusing to eat lately and Mom had decided he needed to see the doctor. "They should be back any minute now."

Caillou walked to the fridge and opened it, debating whether or not he was too lazy to make eggs. The front door slammed and Mom called, "I'm home."

"Finally," said Caillou. "Breakfast."

"Don't bother your mother," Dad said. "If you sleep late, you have to make your own breakfast. That's the rule."

Mom walked into the kitchen with the cat carrier. She put it down and unlatched the door. Gilbert walked out, offended, and stalked into the living room.

"Mo-om," said Caillou, "Dad and Rosie won't let me eat."

"If you hadn't slept so late I would have made you breakfast."

"That's what Dad said, but I know you'll make me breakfast anyway, because you're the best mom in the world. Right?" Caillou put on his best innocent face.

He expected Mom to laugh, the way she always did, but she paid him no mind. "Honey?" She touched Dad on the arm. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure." Dad tossed the muffin to Caillou, who snatched it out of the air with one hand. "Enjoy." He and Mom left the kitchen.

"Showoff," Rosie said.

Caillou grinned and pantomimed throwing the muffin at her. Rosie shied before she realized he hadn't actually thrown it. "Very funny." She put her hands on her hips and stuck out her tongue at him.

"You're so easy to fool." He broke the muffin in half. "Here, I'll split it with you."

"Caillou? Rosie?" Mom's voice came from the living room. "Can you come in here, please?"

They walked into the living room to see Mom and Dad standing with strange looks on their faces. Gilbert sat on the couch, washing a paw. Mom said, "Kids, I have some bad news. The vet said Gilbert is in the first stages of kidney failure. It'll only get worse as time goes on."

"He won't eat. He has trouble climbing the stairs, and he was sick on and off all last winter. And now this-" Dad's voice trailed off.

Caillou felt cold. "What are you saying?"

It wasn't Dad, but Mom who said it. "It's time."

"No," Rosie said. She looked from parent to parent. "No, he's just old, that's what old cats do, he'll be fine in a few days."

"He won't be fine, Rosie," Mom said. "He's just going to keep getting sicker and he won't enjoy his life at all."

"It's not fair."

"I know, but this is what happens with pets."

"Poor Gilbert." Rosie's lip quivered.

Dad sighed. "Mom's already made an appointment for tomorrow morning. I'll take him."

"No." It came out louder than Caillou expected, and everyone looked at him. "No," he said again. "He's my cat. I'll do it."

Dad and Mom exchanged looks. Mom started to say something, but Dad spoke first. "Are you sure, Caillou?"

"I am." Caillou looked at Gilbert. "He'll be more comfortable if I'm there."

"You can come with me, but..."

Caillou wanted to say yes. He wanted to be able to hide behind Dad and not face what had to be done, but..."I'm not a kid any more, Dad. I can do this."

"Caillou," Mom said, "you don't need to..."

"Yes. I do."

"Well...all right." Dad didn't sound confident.

Caillou raised his chin and looked his parents in the eyes. "I'll be fine," he said, not knowing if he was convincing them or convincing himself. He walked to the couch and petted Gilbert, feeling the answering thrum of purring under his hand.

Ever since Caillou was little, Gilbert had been there. When he was in preschool and everything was new and frightening, Gilbert had been there. When he was in grade school and the kids made fun of his alopecia, Gilbert had been there. When he was in middle school and made an own goal in a soccer game and was mocked mercilessly for weeks, Gilbert had been there. When he started high school and Clementine turned him down for the junior prom, Gilbert had been there.

Gilbert had always been there for him. Now he needed to be there for Gilbert.

Caillou felt tears well in his eyes but blinked them away. If he broke down and cried in front of his parents they might not let him do what he knew he had to do. They might look at him and still see him as a kid, someone that had to be shielded from things like this. "It'll be okay, Gilbert," he whispered. "You won't hurt any more. I'll take care of it. I promise."

The next morning no one talked at breakfast. Gilbert padded into the kitchen but wouldn't touch his food. Rosie got down on the floor to tempt him with flakes of tuna fish, which he nibbled at before walking away. "See?" she said to no one in particular. "He will eat."

Caillou didn't much feel like touching his own food. He looked up at the clock on the wall and cursed it for running too fast. "I'd better get going," he said, standing up. "I don't want to be late."

Rosie, sitting on the floor holding the open can of tuna fish, started to cry.

"Don't cry, Rosie," said Mom, but tears were running down her cheeks as well. "You know this is for the best."

Dad coughed, and his eyes were bright. "Caillou, are you sure you don't want me to-"

"No. I've got it." Caillou walked to the closet and took out the cat carrier, then went in search of Gilbert. He found him in the living room, lying on the couch with his paws neatly tucked under him. Gilbert meowed in protest when Caillou picked him up. Everyone gathered around.

Rosie blinked back her tears. "Goodbye, Gilbert." She scratched him behind one floppy ear.

"You were a great cat, Gilbert," said Dad, patting him.

"Goodbye, Gilbert." Mom gave him one quick pat before turning away.

Caillou easily loaded Gilbert into the carrier, realizing just how sick Gilbert was when he didn't try to escape. Caillou wasn't sure what to say. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, and the words hung awkwardly in the air.

He loaded Gilbert's carrier into the car and slipped behind the wheel and it struck him all at once that he was only a kid, that he didn't want to do this, that he wanted his mommy and daddy to take care of it so he didn't have to face it. He hid his face in his hands. He'd been wrong. He couldn't take this. He would go back into the house, and-

From the carrier Gilbert mewed in protest.

Gilbert, he thought. I have to do it for him. He squared his shoulders and started the car. He pulled out of the driveway. His family stood in the doorway and waved a farewell until they shrank to nothing in the mirror.

He didn't cry. He didn't cry when he walked into the vet's office, didn't cry when he held and petted Gilbert as the sedative took effect, didn't cry when the final injection was given. He stayed strong for Gilbert. He didn't let the tears start until the vet said, sadly, that Gilbert was gone, that he could pick up the ashes in about a week, that he could pay the bill then. Outside, back in the car with the empty carrier on the seat beside him, he wiped his eyes dry with a handkerchief and took one shuddering breath, and then another.

In the midst of his pain he felt strangely light. He'd done the right thing, stood by Gilbert when he needed him. He'd been right when he told his folks he wasn't a kid any more. He was a man now.

A man with a cat-sized hole in his heart. That was the way of growing up. Some things didn't last forever.

But he could remember them forever.

Caillou took another deep breath and rubbed his eyes, and when he was sure he was ready he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Time to go home. Time to see his family, to support them. He'd be there for them, just as he'd been there for Gilbert.

"Thanks, Gilbert," he whispered. "For everything."

 _This story dedicated to the memory of the bestest of all pussycats._


End file.
